Thursday, 26 March 2015

My mother-in-law is 91, her husband a few years younger and
increasingly immobile, and they need to move house. They need to down-size, but
they can’t bring themselves to do so. A major barrier I think is the effort of
sorting out her possessions. She has collected small treasures on her travels,
and some lovely wedding gifts. Her possessions are not worth any money, by and
large, but they are valuable to her personally. She walks around her house, and
sees her life reflected back at her. And she’s not ready to let go of that.

She worries aloud, “who will want my things when I’m gone?”
She worries that her precious belongings will end up at the tip (landfill),
thanks to the unthinking son who told her that’s where most of her things will
go. (Men!) She understands that the younger generations have very different
tastes these days, and knows that we won’t value her things in the same way she
has. Or that we will value different things. And she feels bereft, even before
she gives anything away, knowing that the meaning of these possessions will die
with her.

She has four sons, four daughters-in-law, and seven
grand-children, and still feels this way.

Ironically, perhaps, I am the only one of her sons or
daughters-in-law who has any of her things. Years ago, I discovered she was
going to give away all of her crystal bowls and (not many) glasses. She assumed
that none of her daughters-in-law would want her crystal, perhaps because we
haven’t purchased any ourselves. But her crystal is beautiful, most of it
wedding presents, though a beautiful lamp is a gift from a previous beau. She
has never really used any of it, not being much of a host, and she came from
the generation that thought you should save beautiful things for special
occasions. When she told me she was going to take it to an op shop (thrift
store), I was appalled. “Don’t you dare!” I cried. So that day, I found myself
going home with several boxes filled with crystal.

A year or two later, the same thing happened with some of
her tea settings, and once again I headed home with a full cargo of delicate tea
cups and saucers, silver trays, and teapots. Most recently, she was caught
puzzled what to do with all her table linen, most of it still in its original
packaging, unused. This last time, I contacted my sisters-in-law and adult
niece, sending photographs of each item, and arranging to give them anything
they wanted.

It is strange though that she either assumes we won’t want
her things, or she has a disconnect and just doesn’t think of her
daughters-in-law as family members, people she’d want to pass her things on to.
But perhaps it’s not that strange. She has found it easier to give away the
beautiful things she has never used, than the tiny items she bought in Europe
in the 1960s or in Thailand visiting us in the 1990s. They are the objects that
seem to hold the most importance for her. And that’s what I’ve learned from all
this. Her things are important to her, but not necessarily anyone else.

When I think about it, I actually now have more memories of
using her beautiful crystal and silver than she does, and they’re part of my
life more than they ever were of hers. A dinner party isn’t complete without
using at least one of her pieces of crystal, and I think she likes the fact
that I use her things. Christmas dinner features her silver trays (filled with
nuts, or stacked with mince pies), crystal bowls (at least one filled with
berries and another with whipped cream), and in the future perhaps her table
linen. They’ve become part of my Christmas tradition, as they were never part
of hers. My nieces and nephews know these things because I use them, not
because they once belonged to their grandmother.

Last year, a blogging friend did what my in-laws can’t bring
themselves to do. She downsized to move into a small home in a retirement
community. A year on, she has some advice on the process here.
She made two very important points:

Remember that you are not your possessions.

Trust me when I say that most objects, once you let them go,
you will never miss.

And, in a reminder that this is not just an issue for those
of us who don’t have children, she said, “Don’t foist your treasures on your
descendants. … Taste in furnishings is not necessarily transmitted in the DNA. Don’t
take it personally.”

It is inevitable, even when we No Kidders try not to, to
think about our old age and death. Aside from the perennial unknown – who will
take care of us? – we also often ask the question “who will want my stuff?”

I have possessions that are important to me, that make me
smile every time I see them, that bring back memories of adventure or happiness
or friendship or love but are meaningless to anyone else. They may well be more
important to me than they are to my husband. Even if I had children, there is
no guarantee that the things I loved would be the things they would love. I’m
sure I love different objects of my mother’s than she does, and I’m sure my
sisters love different things again. We, all of us, love different things for
different reasons; we have different emotions, different memories, different
tastes, and as a result, value different things.

I accept that my stuff is important to me, but not
necessarily anyone else. That makes the thought of parting with these things
someday all the easier. I feel at peace too with the knowledge that, after I’m
gone, there is no-one to inherit from me. I understand and accept that my
nieces and nephews might not want any of the things I’ve inherited or acquired
in my life-time. Maybe they will, in the way I love my crystal. Maybe they won't. It doesn't really matter. After all, as Lali said, it’s not personal.

Monday, 23 March 2015

One of the great pleasures of blogging, and in particular, of ALI blogging, is writing a post that I really have to think about. I love reading
blogs too, that confront me, and make me think. I often comment along the lines of “I’ve got to think more on this” or “I may post on this myself.” As I write a comment I start formulating a view, or see more
questions that need to be asked, and sometimes have to restrain myself, or
simply go away and think more. The mere act of sitting at my computer (or iPad)
to write stimulates me to think, helps me formulate a position or view on an
issue I’ve never considered before, maybe changes my position, or shows me that
I don’t know enough to have a specific position or to write knowledgeably about
a particular subject.

I love the intellectual stimulus that I get simply from
reading and writing blogs, and the self-discovery I’ve enjoyed as a result.

Friday, 20 March 2015

Klara recently
shared the reasons why she and her husband chose not to adopt, and invited other
no kidding bloggers to do the same. Loribeth
and BentNotBroken
have done so, and Savannah
has also shared her adoption story in a series of moving posts. I've had a post
drafted for some time, and have been tossing up about how much to say. Because
it’s not just my story. So I’ve opted for the short version. Here goes ...

There were almost insurmountable practical barriers
to adoption:

Domestic adoption
in New Zealand is rare these days.

Because of this,
competition is stiff. And as older parents, chances we would have been chosen
were slim.

International
adoptions are very expensive, and can take a long time to finalise. We didn’t
have time to spare.

There were also
other issues that were complicated to resolve:

We were both
feeling our age. Did we want to become new parents at this stage? Would it be
fair to the child?

Complicated feelings towards
other issues, including adopting older children (would we be able to give these
children what they needed?), open adoptions (I support these but they bring
their own challenges), and international adoptions (having lived in Asia, and with part-Asian nieces and nephews, we
were comfortable with the idea of having an Asian child, but conflicted about some of the other ethical
considerations).

We were tired and demoralised.

General misgivings/other issues.

Practically the barriers were high. Coupled with other issues, the wall was too high to
climb together. These are the complicated issues that the “just adopt” brigade
don’t think about or discuss. Our marriage, a partnership built over many years
and forged stronger through our joint loss and grief, and our confusion over
adoption, would - we knew - survive this. It would survive simply because we
considered each other’s feelings, but were honest about our own. Our knowledge
that we would be okay gave us further confidence not to rush into something
that might not be the right decision. As time passed, we became more and
more comfortable with leaving it be.

Tuesday, 17 March 2015

A much-loved niece’s
wedding in an exotic location (well, as exotic as Australia gets) took me
away from the real world for a while. I remember her sister’s
wedding (also much-loved, in my much-loved exotic Thailand) three years
ago. I felt a little pang at seeing the joy in my sister’s face as her daughter
got married, but it wasn’t as bad as I had feared, because I actually felt so
happy for my niece and for my sister. This time I felt no pangs at all. I felt
secure in my role as aunt, and maybe because this time my other sister was able
to go too, I didn’t feel isolated at all, rather I felt part of a loving
extended family, all there to celebrate this so very happy occasion.

The fact that we were doing all this on the beach in the
Queensland made it easier. We were focused on the sun, sand, and surf, the fun we
were all having – and being from New Zealand, we complained (some more than others)
about the heat. My status as a childless woman was irrelevant. I was another family
member there to love and support my nieces, and to get to know further my
delightful great-nephew, and to swim with my littlest niece, Charlie. It just
wasn’t an issue.

We then escaped further south, to hippy central Byron Bay, where we didn’t feel
childless. Just old!

Monday, 16 March 2015

Yesterday was Mother’s Day (or Mothering Sunday as they call
it) in the UK. I’m always caught by this, and sure enough, late last night as I
was going to bed I decided to check Fb, and was surprised once again that the
first five or six updates on my feed were entries about Mother’s Day. I met almost
all (bar one or two) of my UK Fb friends through pregnancy loss. So they were
(mostly – not all) more sensitive about Mother’s Day, and had put up statuses expressing
their love for those who might find Mother’s Day hard, or for those children
who had lost their mothers, or mothers who had lost children. Still, I cringed
ouch at these, because they were unexpected, and reminded me once again that I
was left out, and that I’ll go through this all over again in May, when other
parts of the world celebrate Mother’s Day.

But then I thought of the others who might be reading these
posts – the women who live in the UK, who had to put up with two weeks of unavoidable
over-the-top advertising, and had to live through this day. They were the ones
who needed the love and hugs that were offered by (most) of my lovely,
sensitive friends, to let them know they were not alone. And I was thankful
to be reminded that wherever we are, we are not alone.

Monday, 9 March 2015

"If I'm asked one more time when I'm going to start a family, I'm going to scream!" she complained. "What am I supposed to say? That we've been off contraception for a year? That we do it every Thursday?"

It was good that she maintained her sense of humour.

I suggested she tell them if she wanted them to know she'd have told them already.

Now though I'm trying to decide if or how I should reach out, so she knows she's not alone. It saddens me that the next generation might also have to deal with this. I didn't want to pass the torch this way.

Monday, 2 March 2015

When my husband's position was made redundant almost two (!) years ago, we took some time to choose our response. Within a few months, we were in Italy for the northern summer, and the photo above was taken high in the hills of Molise. As a result, we have a lifetime of memories, and at least two new friends from Slovenia.

When we couldn't have children, we could have retreated inside ourselves, and taken the view that our lives would forever be "lesser." Instead, we grieved then said good-bye to our grief. Herein lies our growth, and our freedom.

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About Me

This is my blog on living and loving life without children after infertility. Currently I'm a blogger, a self-employed businessperson, and traveller.

I blog on A Separate Life about my everyday life, but this is a space for thoughts on my No Kidding lifestyle, the good and the bad, remembering what was lost, and celebrating what I have.

My husband and I are the stereotypical couple without children who love to travel. I recently started Instagram where I am (at) travellingMali, and I'm posting photos of various trips (so far mainly our northern trip this year), and the occasional photo of where I live in NZ.

In 2013 I travelled in Europe and the Middle East for five months, and kept a blog at Lemons to Limoncello.

I also had a travelblog some years ago, but stopped posting in 2012, which you can see at Mali's Travelalphablog. I'm intending to start that up again, so watch this space!

In the meantime, I love to hear from readers, and you can email me at: malinzblog at yahoo dot co dot nz